Thanks for all the reviews and favorites, I will continue to improve the story based on your feedback. I've got a lot more in mind for Sergeant Flint and his small team of operatives. Hope you enjoy guys and please read and review.
At The Edge of The World
December 24th, 2014
Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion
1435 Hours
Agent Oliver stood near one of the cabinets and poured herself some more coffee. A single cup filled with water stood next to my hand. The sun was setting. The air thick with streaks of yellow from the dusk sky. People were getting home from work, I know that I would be one of them. So would Jorge, Elf and Bal, all the in the same car and smiling faces. His children would never see his face again. Agent Oliver casually walked back to her seat and took a sip of her coffee. Strong and black. She took a file from her bag. I started to wonder if that was all in her purse or there was something else. I looked at her open the file, looking at it before locking eyes with me and pushing the folder towards me. Operation: Raghead, named it myself. Someone from the same branch of service was being interrogated next door. I could just feel it. His voice sounded familiar as he answered the question. Agent Oliver tapped the folder waiting for an answer.
"Well?" She asked as I looked back at her cold green eyes.
"Well what?" I replied with a small sneer.
"Cut the bullshit Josh. Operation: Raghead, what went wrong with it? Why did you chase Hannibal into the desert?" Agent Oliver asked leaning forward.
"I'd like you to answer some of the questions myself. Where were you during the Operation and after. Where did you go..." I paused for effect.
"Agent. Oliver. Or are you a double agent?" I asked leaning backwards to see her mouth parting slightly into a snarl.
"Tell. Me." She stated firmly, picking up her mug with the CIA logo on it and sipped the brew.
"You have to trust someone to be betrayed, Agent Oliver." I whispered, quoting Captain Price.
October 13th, 2014
Joint Base Balad, Iraq
Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion
0935 Hours
Iraq was one of the most hated place in all of the world. A shithole for terrorism and one of the world's worst killers. The sun was the killer nowadays, dehydration and sun stroke maimed in hundreds while bullets took the lives of thousands. PLR were thick throughout the middle eastern region. Recruits from Syria, Pakistan and Iran were sent in to Iraqi to fight Uncle Sam himself. I stood in the middle of the locker room suiting up for the mission. On my body was the same desert digies all the Marines wore. A lightweight helmet along with state of the art communication equipment encasing my ears. Two ropes dangled from my armor vest, never hurt to take more than one. My standard M1911 pistol and knife sat snugly in their holster. Magazine pouches hung from different parts of my body as I picked up a Colt Modular 901 rifle painted in camouflage fitted with quick acquisition reflex sights and foregrip, the perfect balance between close quarter firepower and long range precision. Walking outside, I felt the heat blast my body. Its been a while since I was back in the desert. Men stood around two helicopters chatting idly. The MH-60M sat with its long snot to receive fuel and extra domes on the nose to navigate the desert at night on the helicopter pad with four others like it. Pilots were studying navigational charts as soldiers ran around with their weapons to board the MV-22 Osprey into combat. Around us were strips of land that stretched kilometers before reaching any major city. The sky was barren and blue with minimal cloud cover. Hundreds of soldiers were deployed each day, dozens more were returned killed and wounded. The airbase was operated by a dozen other branches, French Army, British Army, American Air Force you name it. I walked to the group of men and looked at their leader.
"Well look who it is. Sergeant Flint back from the dead." The familiar face said with a smile, extending his hand as I chuckled.
"That's Staff Sergeant Flint, Rocky." I replied grabbing his hand and giving a firm shake.
"You know him?" A female voice asked from behind me.
"Know him, I fought with him during Desert Storm." I explained to Agent Oliver, the team rallying around me.
"Lieutenant John Ambergris, most people call me Rocky." The gruff Irishman shook Agent Oliver's hand.
"What a boner kill Rocky." Elf called out from behind me.
"Elf, where the fuck have you been Devil Dog?" Rocky said with a laugh, hugging one of his brothers.
"Doing high speed, low drag black ops shit." Elf replied giving the man a firm fist tap into his chest.
"Still got the punch huh?" Rocky coughed stepping back.
"Practice everyday." Elf replied, Bal stepping out with a large M240 machine gun.
"Hey little man, still holding a bigger gun than you have I see." Rocky teased with a sly smile.
"Shut up Irishman." Bal grunted, walking to the Nighthawk and placing his rifle on the passenger deck.
"Alright, everybody gear up! Get mean, get lean and get ready to fucking clean!" A voice yelled from behind me, I turned to see Captain Greg "Metal" Holland jogging towards us.
"Hitman One, mount up!" Lieutenant Ambergris ordered, the men jumping onto the two Nighthawks.
"Hoorah!" The force of thirty yelled jumping onto the passenger deck.
I walked towards the Nighthawk and jumped on the passenger deck. I placed my rifle next to my seat and turned to Agent Oliver encased in high-tech heavy armor along with a giant assault rifle.
"Well?" I asked holding out a hand.
She grunted and grabbed my hand. I smiled turning to Rocky who looked at me from the seat just behind the cockpit. He gave me a rock-on sign, usually reserved for black operations. The pilots finished their scanning of the charts and walked into their cockpits. Metal jumped into the seat in front of me, his M4 Carbine pointed out into the desert. The rotors started with a whirl and slowly spooled up into a loud rumble. I pulled out a headphone plug for the helicopter intercom and jacked it into my headset. The helicopter pilot looked back and gave us the okay sign. I flashed him a thumbs-up.
"This is your pilot, thank you for flying Army Special Operations. Now please buckle up and don't stick your hands out the side of the helicopter while in flight." The pilot spoke as the helicopter rumbled.
"Just get us there ARMY (Aren't Real Men Yet)." Metal barked as the Marines laughed.
"Alright Jarhead, hold on tight." The pilot laughed, pitching the helicopter dangerously forward.
The helicopter gained speed and skimmed above the surface. Wind buffeted against my body, fluttering against the clothes and feeling dangerously cool against the skin. We were heading into the green zone. A place where the US Marines and the ragheads of the middle east came together. The worst shithole in all of the middle east. I pulled down my sunglasses and looked out into the city. Smoke spewed from the metropolis, the buildings made out of tan bricks crumbling beneath rocket explosions and tank shells. We crossed over the expressway into the city. Red tracers darted up from the ground peppering the aircraft with sparks of light and bullet holes. The aircraft held from the increased armor but was slowed down to a top speed of one hundred and fifty knots, far too slow for a targeting portable missile launcher. We danced between apartment buildings and business centers extending from the ground like a sore thumb. A loud blaring alarm sounded in the passenger deck, red lights flashing on and off.
"Welcome to the green zone!" Metal yelled into the intercom as the pilots banked hard left.
"Incoming missile!" He grunted, pops exploding from the back of the helicopter.
"Dumping flares and jinking!" He murmured to himself as a smoke trail raced from the ground.
"Too much drama." Rocky muttered firing towards the ground.
An explosion rocked the passenger bay, sending the helicopter into an uncontrollable shudder. Smoke spewed from the rear rotor blades and the engines.
"We're hit!" One of the crew warned looking back from his post at the M134 Minigun.
"It's okay, I have control. Collective and flight stick stabilized, fuel is leaking but okay. Pedals are a bit shaky but we're flyable." The pilot panted back a response, concentrating on trying to keep the bird in the air.
"Just get us on to that rooftop!" I yelled into the intercom.
"Let's go over the plan one more time!" Rocky stated looking at his men.
"Reaper One will be rappelling down from the side of the building and will be in charged of nabbing the High Value Target! We will be the force that kills everything that moves, shoot or even breathes! The staff has been evacuated and the only ones in the building are hostiles. Even the waiter packs a Glock 24 pistol." Rocky quickly spoke as I saw the target building.
"Room service is going to be a bitch, huh Jenkins?" A Recon Marine asked his comrade.
"Fuck yeah!" The other replied with enthusiasm.
"Here we go, ten miles out. Going into insertion mode!" The pilot grunted, the helicopter descending to rooftop level.
The building was at least twenty stories tall with two floors of blacked out windows. Antennas and satellite dishes filled the rooftop of the hotel. Big bold letters reading, Al-Kublai were bolted onto the side of the tower in big red characters. Bullets grazed the side of my head as I leaned over to look at the rooftops. Fresh PLR troops were retaliating with AK gunfire and RPG rockets. Most of the bullets and rockets missed while some luckily pinged off the side of the helicopter. We approached the hotel. The helicopter pitched up and climbed up at a dangerous nose pitch. I gripped onto my seat as the whirl and roar of the minigun spat out five thousand rounds a minute. Hot and fresh brass casing rained down onto my skin. One even got into the back of my uniform. I felt my back burst into intense heat, my hands digging up the armor vest and pulled out the casing. The heat could still be felt through the gloves. The hotel's lip appeared from above the helicopter, I slapped my magazine one more time and slid the bolt of the rifle back just a centimeter to see the bullet casing brass.
"Three seconds!" Metal warned, the helicopter coming to a complete stop.
"Two!" He yelled again, the guards on the roof raising their rifle to fire at the moving helicopter.
"One!" The Marines opened fire as I stood up from my seat, gripping the passenger bay rail and kicked the rope off the helicopter.
"Go, go, go!" Metal yelled, my hands wrapping around the rope as thick as my arm.
My gloves fizzled and burned from the rope. The smell of burnt rubber and blood filled the air as the helicopter hovered for a few seconds longer after depositing the troops. Gust from the helicopter's rotor blew at my face and my uniform. A second Nighthawk rose up from under the hotel, deploying the second Marine squad. Two more would follow as Elf, Bal, Jorge and I rigged up the rappel line. I pulled out the rope and tied it around the rail. A D-ring secured the rope around my body. I tugged on the rope and saw Agent Oliver walk up to us.
"What are you doing?" She asked unaware, holding her sub machine gun.
"Its a rappel line, don't tell me you spooks in the SAD don't get rope training." I stated seeing the team checking everything on their vest for a tight fit.
"Come here then." I sighed, man I hate people who weren't adequate enough for the mission, intelligence officer? More like a nuisance.
"W-wait-" She stuttered.
"No time to lose." I said, chuckling with the rest of the team.
I clipped a D-ring onto her body armor and tied the rope around her web belt ensuring maximum safety in case anyone of them slipped. My hands worked so fast that even she didn't have time to react. The next thing she knew, her D-ring was hooked up against my back. I smiled pulling the rope tight and stepped up the rail. The team flashed their safety hook in the air.
"Hitman report." I ordered waiting for the reply, feeling Agent Oliver's breath skim my neck, making the hairs on my neck stand.
"Give us thirty seconds!" Rocky replied through unstable COMs.
"Hitman One-One ready." The COMs reported, their Alpha Fireteam.
"Hitman Two-One ready." The COMs squawked again, their Bravo Fireteam.
"Hitman Three-One ready." Their final transmission from the Charlie Fireteam came through.
"Hitman Actual, all ready. Stand by, stand by." Metal ordered as we waited for the go order.
"Execute, all teams green light!" Metal yelled into the radio.
"Hook up, here we fucking go. MARSOC!" I yelled into the air, slapping the back-up hook into the rail.
"Hoorah! Marines!" We all yelled at once taking a step back.
We ran forward looking over the cityscape and the skyline. I pushed off the rooftop and sailed over the rail along with my men. Adrenaline surged through my body overriding the fear in my gut. The feeling of flying off the building with absolutely nothing between your feet and fifty stories of ground was exhilarating. I felt a high shoot into my head, making it tingle. The building side rushed towards me in slow motion, god damn it felt like a year. My feet smashed into something rock hard. My boots absorbing most of the impact. The rush immediately escaped from my body and the pain sparked through my legs. I was holding up the weight for two people in armor, not just one this time. One hand held the brake rope while the other held my CM 901. Bal and Elf were already far ahead of me, running with the rifle held in one hand while Bal equipped his sidearm. We thundered down the roof towards the blacked out floor, the Marines running down their designated hallways and stairwells. The wind rushed through my helmet, cooling my sweat covered hair. Fresh air flushed itself into my lungs and the taste of metal still bitter in my mouth. My throat was dry from the sudden rush as we neared the floor. I paused, pulling the brake rope with the team waiting for the correct time. Jorge looked at me, his rifle poised in the air. Holding a rifle up with one hand in positive gravity was one thing. Holding up while upside down with blood draining into your head was another. Three bangs exploded from inside the room. The windows were still intact from the blast, that was our queue. I pushed off the side of the building and in one smooth motion righted my body in the air, feeling dizzy as blood quickly drained from my head. My knees were bent to absorb the impact of the glass. Crack. The glass shattered into a million pieces. Smoke flooded the room as two men with modern G36C rifles looked back at us in disbelief. My rifle shook twice. Both men buckled before even falling into the empty desk and chair. Both of my hands went to the rifle as the rope stripped itself from the D-ring along with back-up line. Another lone defender, this time with an Uzi sub machine gun. Two in the chest, one in the head. The blood splattered onto the crème wall behind him as he slumped into the onyx carpet. I scanned the area with my rifle, Agent Oliver unattaching herself from me.
"Clear!" A voice yelled from the other side of the room.
"Clear!" I yelled seeing the gray smoke slowly ebb out of the room through the window.
"Clear!" Two other voices answered.
"Where's the HVT?" Metal asked through the radio, the man himself walking to the middle of the room with his rifle pointed at the ground.
"Not here sir." A Lance Corporal replied reviving a death stare from the Captain.
"Thank you, Captain fucking obvious." Metal grunted as the smoke cleared.
"Search the room, I want everything looked at." I ordered my men, the Recon Marines following my orders.
"Roger Boss." Bal replied walking to the tables.
Agent Oliver looked at the walls with Elf and Jorge while I searched the tables with Bal for clues. It was spotless, no evidence, no smudges, not even disturbance of dust. Everything seemed...normal. That felt very wrong to me. Something drew me to the carpets. Odd. The small hairs went from one way to another, it kept a trail. It led to a painting of President Al-Bashir. I tapped the wall. Normal. I placed my hand on a small pedestal with a jug for decoration. The jug sank and a click was heard from the panting. Man it was like some super villain escape route.
"I think I found it." I called, everyone looking at the entrance.
"This has to be some super villain shit for sure." Elf grumbled as we walked into the door to find an elevator big enough for fifteen people.
"Hitman Two, Three back to the helos and get ready for a hot deployment. One with me." Rocky yelled seeing Metal walk back with the rest of the unit.
"Not coming along sir?" Rocky asked.
"I'm going on over watch." Metal said with a smile.
"Command I need SATCOM to find me any vehicles leaving the hotel's vector within a five mile radius." I ordered into the radio, the elevator buzzing slowly down.
"Roger that, satellite is coming into geo-sync orbit in five mikes." My radio squawked as the elevator clanked to a stop.
"Alpha, get me some heads!" Rocky bellowed, the team of seven men surging forward into a dark corridor.
"Reaper, NODs on." I ordered and pulled out a one eyed night vision device, mounting it on the lightweight helmet.
"Roger." The men replied doing the same.
I flicked a small switch on the side of the goggle, the pitch dark of my left eye turning into a bright and grainy green. Shadows were revealed and things that were hidden, exposed. Rocky and my team slowly walked after the eager Recon Marines watching their backs. A heavy metallic bang echoed through the corridor.
"Lieutenant, I found something!" Someone yelled as we ran around the corner, the private reaching to grab a box with the words: Operation: Jagged Liberty.
"Nile, no!" Rocky yelled, the team stopping in their tracks.
My eyes were blinded by an orange explosion. I felt my body pushed backwards violently. The air escaped my lungs and my back slamming into something protruding from the wall. High-pitched bells rang in my ear and the taste of smoke filled my mouth. I coughed still on the ground, my face resting on something cold with small pieces of debris poking my cheek. My body ached from the sudden explosion. My lungs sucked in air, it was musky with the heavy smell of smoke. Two fingers pressed into my neck. My body was pulled up and propped against the wall. A hand lifted my head up. I felt something lightly tap me on the cheek. My eyes fluttered open, a mess of orange, black and yellow blurred together. Breathing, breathing was all that I can hear and my heart pounding in my head. My vision slowly sharpened. It was Jorge.
"Flint, look at me. Look at me!" Jorge yelled, a trickle of blood running down the right side of his head.
"Is he...okay?" I asked as something restricted me from inhaling fully.
"The Private?" Jorge asked as I nodded trying to get up.
"KIA." Jorge replied, moving over to Elf and Bal.
"Rocky!" I yelled and coughed at the same time.
"Rocky!" I yelled again grabbing what stabbed me in the back, a shut-off valve.
"I'm...here!" Rocky yelled coughing from the corner of the corridor.
"Sound off!" Rocky ordered, getting up from the floor.
"I said, fucking sound off!" Rocky ordered again as Bal hobbled over to me.
"Ramirez, here!" A voice reported.
"Ollie, okay but shaken!" Another replied as I walked over to the door.
My right leg felt wrong, something warm dripped down to the boot. I hobbled with Bal into the doorway. The burning led to a giant underground garage with no cars. It was a place for the powerful to meet. Now, it was a graveyard for the Marines that were caught in the bomb. I noticed a bloodied body by the wall. The head looking to the left and the body along with the limbs twisted at a strange angle. Only the ballistic vest and the standard M4 Carbine laying next to the body identified the corpse as the Private that tried to pick up the box. Three others were on the ground moaning as four lightly wounded walked towards them. The Marines picked their wounded up and started walking towards the exit, spiraling upwards into the bright light. Bright orange flames still licked the body of the dead Private and the ground around the bomb. I walked towards him and picked up his rifle, Rocky patting the body with his FROG (Flame Resistant Organizational Gear) gloves. The smell of rotten and burnt flesh floated into the air as Rocky wrapped the corpse's arm around his shoulder. Elf and Jorge walked out from the corridor with his blowout kit in his hands. Jorge had a nasty cut from the top of his forehead down to his left lip, another trophy to add to out long list. Men carried their comrades in their arms walking up to ground level. I followed them up. A bright light blinded my eyes, the feeling of a cool, fresh breeze hitting my face. I didn't realize I was sweating until now.
"Reaper One, Command, we are tracking fifteen vehicles moving from the town in all directions. One we believe to be Hannibal is fifty klicks out. He's moving towards the Iran-Iraq border." The radio squawked to life after we emerged from five feet of solid concrete.
"Roger that Command." I whispered back, drained of energy.
"Baseplate we need CASEVAC for three wounded men, priority three." I ordered into the radio, priority three: severely wounded.
"Roger that, Mule Six inbound in one mike with Nighthawk Three." The pilot reported as the Marines propped their friends up against the hotel's rock wall.
"How are they?" I asked Rocky who gently placed Private Nile's body next to them.
"Two have broken bones, internal injuries and possibly a concussion. The other one has broken bones and a large shrapnel wound in his abdomen. Gauze is holding, but he'll bleed out eventually." Rocky replied with a sigh, the sound of rotor blades vibrating the air was heard in the distance.
"Pop green smoke!" I yelled seeing Jorge pull out a cylinder from his vest and pulling the pin.
"Mule Six inbound, confirmed friendly popping green smoke." The pilot spoke as I ran out to the road and raised both of my hands.
"Reaper One, confirm popping green smoke." I replied seeing the helicopter flare to land.
I waved the helicopter forward with both of my hands. The blackhawk with a red cross painted on the passenger doors slowly inched forward from the green smoke. Rotor wash split the cloud of smoke into small vortexes circling to either side of the helo. I crossed my hands and heard a screech from the blackhawk's wheels as it touched down. Men rushed out from the helicopter and grabbed the wounded Marines pulling them inside the medical helicopter. IV lines, bandages and EKG lines were connected to the Marines to monitor their health. I walked to the side to see the last of the Marines being loaded as the Nighthawks followed in behind the CASEVAC bird. I smacked the side of the aircraft twice and pointed my thumb into the air. The pilots saluted me and lifted off as the Nighthawks replaced the Blackhawk. The sliding door was thrown open as Agent Oliver stood their, crouching with her weapon with Metal.
"Where the fuck were you?" I yelled grabbing the rail on the helicopter and pulling myself inside.
"I had to go tend to some CIA business." She replied as the rest of the team and the uninjured Marines got in.
"Let's move it, we have a madman to catch!" I yelled seeing the pilots nod in response.
"Baseplate, I need two Desert Patrol Vehicles with portable communication gear and the maximum amount of supply on board. One, L96A1 sniper rifle and another M24EP inside them." I ordered, the helicopter banking back towards the base.
"Roger that, gear will be ready in ten." The radio crackled as bullets pinged off the side of the helicopter.
"You're bleeding!" Agent Oliver yelled from beside me.
"Just a flesh wound, its far from the heart!" I yelled back as she pulled up my trousers to the knee.
A small red cut leaking blood dripped down my leg and into the top of my boot. She pulled out my blowout kit and poured a small amount of alcohol on my leg before closing it up with a bandage. I grabbed a small liquid container from my vest. The bottle contained Oral I.V., an new liquid medicine that helped the blood cells absorb more water to hydrate the warrior faster. I threw the bottle out of the helicopter and saw the base looming up. Two main runways were filled with transport aircraft and fighter bombers. Two dune buggies with the large boxes strapped to their frames stood in the plain light. Four more Humvees were behind it with men pouring into them as we landed. I hopped off the helicopter as it landed and walked over to the desert patrol vehicle.
"What's this?" I asked Rocky, the officer opening the door to his Humvee behind us.
"You think you're going to get all of the action? Not this time!" Rocky yelled with a smile.
"Jorge, Elf get in the second vehicle, you could do with out a gunner. Spook, you're on co-driver and Bal you're driving." I ordered as the men nodded getting inside the car.
My leg throbbed as I jumped into the rear gunner seat. The Nighthawk lifted off to carry on their mission of sending and retrieving troops from the area. Jet fuel was heavy in the air along with sound of buzzing jet engines. Bal got inside the DPV and pushed the ignition button. The 2.5L turbocharged engine roaring to life beneath my seat. I pulled back the M2 Browning Machine Gun's bolt and loaded a round into the chamber. Looking down, I saw Bal push on the clutch and put the DPV into first gear. Agent Oliver looked at the M249 in front of her with a bizarre look, not knowing what to do. The engine roared even louder as Bal pressed on the accelerator. He released the clutch and the DPV lurched forward before the sputtered to a stop. Bal cursed and placed the vehicle back into neutral and started the engine again. He tired again, the furthest we traveled that moment was three feet.
"Bal, stop fucking around." Elf said with a laugh from beside us, his DPV roar with power as he revved it.
"Shut up it's been a while." Bal grunted as I hopped off the rear gunner's seat.
"You can't even drive stick, man the gun." I ordered seeing the Croatian grumble before getting out.
I jumped into the seat and pressed the ignition button. It's a good thing extra armor plates were wielded onto the sides of the sandrail-like dune buggy or else rocks would be hitting us at eighty kilometers per hour. The engined roared from behind me as I pressed the clutch and shifted into first gear. The stick shift itself was a rally style shift, back for up and forward for down. With a light tap on the accelerator, I released the clutch. The DPV smoothly accelerated down the taxiway towards three waiting C-130 transport planes. Two C-130s sat on the taxiway with their rear ramp open. I stopped just to the right of the C-130 and let Rocky slide in first. Lightest to heaviest when we drop off. Elf went next and sailed up the ramp, turning his engine off just as he stopped. I backed up and drove the DPV up the ramp and stopped to see the ramp slowly closing up the cargo bay.
"You Reaper?" A crewman asked as I nodded, the prop engines slowly spooling with an electrical buzz.
"We're dropping you fifty miles southwest of here. SATCOM spotted the HVT already twenty miles east of here, he's going to be turning south towards the border soon. We can't drop you there because the PLR have SAMs and A-A sites all around that region." The Crewman explained strapping our DVP down into the cargo deck.
"Roger that." I replied in a whisper, turning the small touchscreen LED screen towards me.
I pressed a small button on the side of the screen. A small battery powered the computer and communication systems, it was charged by the engine like the hybrid cars and held a sixty two hours charge. The black screen flashed white with the black letters reading: CISCO Military Technology in the center of the screen. CISCO was part of hundreds of other companies that made up the military communications network. I chuckled in surprise seeing the screen flash into a Windows 8 Portable Edition Operating System popped up. Four main menus were in the center behind an United States Army logo. I tapped the communication option.
"Bal, what's the SOCNR(Special Operations Combat Network Radio) keyword and Net-ID?" I asked our communication specialist.
"Keyword niner eight five Charlie two four Tango six three Zulu and Net-ID Sigma Six." He replied as I tapped in the numbers.
"Alright, you guys heard the COMs guy." I replied seeing Elf give me a thumbs up from in front of me.
I tapped back and saw the SIGINT(Signal Intelligence) tab. The tab opened up to three others, television, internet or radio. Tapping the radio tab, it turned out to be some Arabian station broadcasting in the local area. The reception was great either since we're on the aircraft and the DPV's antenna could only intercept television frequencies from a certain distance. I paid no attention to it until something flashed on the screen right below the Arabian Anchorwoman. The only word I could make out was Sergeant Juno Miller.
"Hey guys, come watch this." I called my team, attracting the whole cargo area of men.
"What the hell?" Rocky mumbled next to me in the middle of Marines and crew members of the C-130.
"Shame. You come to our country to murder us." President Al-Bashir spoke, standing next to a Marine from the tank battalion. His face was bloodied and his blonde hair stained with sweat.
"Yet we are the terrorist when we try to protect our nation and our people." Sergeant Miller continued to look at the man, light fell on his face from the window from in front of them and gave him a frightened look.
"This is the price you pay." President Al-Bashir finished, pointing to Sergeant as a Russian walked behind him. It wasn't Hannibal, it was Solomon.
"Fucking hell." A female crewman cursed as the Russian slit his throat with a combat knife, the blood pouring all over the floor.
"Sick bastards." The image sank in. Sergeant Miller looked down at the ground inside an abandoned building filled with mannequins just as the TV turned black.
"Their going to pay for slitting one of ours in the throat." Rocky growled angrily.
"Alright everyone get inside their vehicles and buckle down, we're taking off." The chief ordered, sending everyone back into their seats.
I placed the small computer on stand-by and leaned back on the seat. We lost another great soldier today, Sergeant Miller was a personal friend of mine back in Operation Desert Storm. Part of a tank crew he could deliver a tank round accurately to over a mile. He was quite the trick master. I took a moment to think about how his wife and children were going to go on with their lives without a father. The man in uniform would show up in front of their house with a letter and a box of belongings. Shaking out of the trance, I pulled out a Snickers Bar from my vest. The buzzing of the props got louder. I lurched backwards feeling a burst of speed from the C-130. A small porthole leaked light in from the outside. The desert base rushed by, the C-130 pitching up to take off. My stomach floated for a few seconds before settling back in. We were flying in the air. I was cross-trained with a Navy F/A-18F pilot and this was not even a tiny fraction of excitement when you launched off the carrier's catapult. The next few hours were spent cleaning equipment, tending to wounds and just plain old chatting.
"How's your parent's doing Bal?" I asked cleaning the barrel of my rifle with a dirtied white cloth.
"Oh not this shit again." Elf moaned as I chuckled from inside the DPV's driver seat.
"Every time the boss is bored, this always pops up." Bal replied, Agent Oliver writing in her small red Moleskine notebook.
"You writing in your diary?" I asked, Agent Oliver quickly closing the notebook as the both of us chuckled.
"None of your business." She shot back quickly as I noticed a few beads of sweat dripping down her forehead.
"You okay?" I replied taking off my glove and placing a hand on her forehead, her hair tied in a bun.
She sat there biting her lip, my hand feeling the coolness of her skin. Was it me or was she getting more pretty? Damn, the heat's messing with my head. Pink lips, blushing red cheeks, silky hair...wait – what am I thinking? I tore my hand off her forehead and sipped cold liquid from my water bladder. My glove went back on as the cargo bay turned red. The light was on. Women and men ran around the DPV and Humvees undoing the straps that kept the vehicles down and stable. I pulled the parking brake and waited for the signal. The chief gave me a five fingered flash, five minutes out. I pulled my sunglasses off and strapped tinted combat goggles around my helmet. One minute out, the engines roared inside the cargo bay with the Humvee being the loudest due to their larger 6.5 Liter engine. I looked back to see the chief smack a button on the side of the C-130's hull. A loud clank with an electrical whirl lowered the ramp. The sun was nowhere to be seen, yet it was still freaking hot. Cold air blasted at me from the ramp. A female crew member walked over to my vehicle and gave me a thumbs-up followed by a salute. That was my signal. I pushed the gear shift into reverse and disengaged the parking brake. With my right feet planted on the brake, I gave her a goodbye salute. She nodded as I lifted my foot off the brake and placed it on the accelerator. The DPV was spat out from the back of the Hercules, my body flying forward only to be stopped by heavy duty safety harnesses. I squinted going for a dim cargo bay to the bright desert. The sun hung low to the left of the C-130 as I turned my head slightly to the left to level myself. It was like the world was in slow motion, my hand gripped the gear shift and pulled it back twice. My stomach lurched as we landed on the ground. The impact jolted my body. I gunned the desert vehicle to the right of the aircraft and the deploying military vehicles. My hand pulled the stick shift back to change gears, the engine grumbling in response before roaring again. I saw Elf fly out the back of the aircraft towards a downward sloping desert hill. The DPV smacked with a thud and continued to travel behind us. The two ton and a half Humvee came next. It fell like a rock into the ground. A giant explosion of sand and dirt puffed up from the Humvee as it accelerated to join up with the faster and smaller DPV. Minutes later, a convoy of two DPVs and three Humvees were rolling down the desert.
"Reaper One, Hitman One Actual, we'll take the main road down to Al Kut. You do what you do best, see you in a couple of hours!" Rocky yelled into the radio, splitting out to the left of us.
"Roger that Hitman, safe seas and fair wind, out." I replied gunning the engine.
"Isn't this dangerous?" Agent Oliver yelled from her seat, her face not shielded by anything.
"Nope!" I yelled back as my head jerked back into the seat after being jolted from a small dune.
"Guys...I'm going to..." Bal moaned, my eyes looking into a small rear view mirror.
"Bal, head out of the vehicle!" I yelled while the Croatian barfed out and away from the DPV.
"Oh f-, no!" Elf grunted trying to refrain from cussing as I looked back at him.
"What the hell, Bal!" Elf yelled from his DPV, driving up next to me and his body completely splattered in green liquid.
"Good thing I'm sitting up here!" Jorge yelled from his gunner's seat, his voice crackling through the wind and radio.
"How far away from Al Kut?" I asked Agent Oliver, glancing over to see her completely stiff in her seat.
"Spook!" I yelled snapping her out of her small shock.
"Y-yeah?" She replied, my head jolting forward as we crashed into a sand dune and flew out the other side.
"Check the map!" I ordered shifting up and spotting two fast moving white shapes in the distance.
"Two possible tangos to our north, eleven o'clock!" Jorge called out, the shapes distorted in the heat waves.
"Let them come to us, then open fire." I replied as the DPV reached its top speed of just over eighty miles an hour.
"Roger that!" Jorge yelled racking his machine gun.
The trucks turned towards us, the white paint reflecting the sun's ray with white glints of light. I gripped the steering wheel tightly waiting for the moment of engagement. The wind howled at me and my throat was once again parched as if sand was being swallowed. Come and get me. I pulled the gear stick back into the DPV's final gear. We were hitting just over one hundred miles an hour on plain open sand. We closed with the white trucks at a frightening rate. Agent Oliver grabbed the weapon. She racked the bolt, the M249 proving too resistant to her. I smiled at her determination as she continued to pull back on the now dirty weapon. In the rearview mirror, Bal had his thumbs on the M2 Browning's trigger. I could see their gunner's wardrobe. Green forest camouflage jacket, ammunition vest and a red shemagh around his head. We got even closer. Now I could see the men inside the trucks. They passed by in a blur of white and gray. I kept going in the same direction I was heading in. Bullets crackled through the sky. Red tracers whizzed by the DPV as we traveled almost twice as fast as the trucks. Bal rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, firing his machine gun. Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang. The machine gun rang in short bursts. A sand dune sat between me and a ravine. It was short enough that we can make the jump. I looked to Jorge. He gave me a short nod. I heard a grunt from Bal, the Croatian standing up with a grenade in his hand. He slumped down and fell off the DPV.
"Bal!" I yelled, stomping on the brake and swinging the DPV around to a stop.
"I'll get him you go on!" Jorge yelled getting out of his vehicle as the trucks, I was torn.
"Make sure you get him to the RV!" I replied shifting back into first gear.
"With respect Sergeant, just get the fuck out of here!" Jorge screamed, the trucks traveling towards us with a plume of sand behind them.
"Go!" Elf yelled as I gunned the engine.
The engine roared like a broken record for a few seconds before the tires caught the sand. I swung the DPV around, the light buggy soaring towards the dune. A blaze of heat near my pants and the engine sputtered, dead. The DPV quickly slowed down but not before tumbling over the edge and down into a deep ravine. I looked up seeing darkness spinning around me. It was a blur of fear. All I heard was the beating of my heart, the sighing of my lungs and the scream of Agent Oliver. I tired to find the gearshift. Instead, I found something soft and silky. It was her hand. Better than dying a lonely death. I gripped her hand tightly as someone soared above us, the sand fell onto me from above. I felt a jolt. My helmet smashing into the anti-roll bar above me. I felt my body completely sink into the car seat as warm liquid dripped down my forehead. Darkness encroached the color of brown and black. My eyes fluttered close. I was gone.
A hand fell onto my shoulder. My body was on a ground of pure white light. Someone stood in front of me, his khaki combat boots tainted with black oil and blood. I looked up. His face was obscured by a bright white light shining from above.
"Where am I?" I groaned, the hand gripping mine.
"Stand up Marine." The shape ordered as I complied.
"W-Who are you?" I muttered seeing others walk in behind him.
"We are those who came before you, those who died in the graveyard of the battlefield. We are the Marines of the past." The one in modern combat armor spoke, his helmet strapped tightly to his head.
One had a ragged jacket on. USMC was printed on his pocket and his bandolier dirtied with blood. Another one stood behind the modern Marine. His tri-colored camouflage not used since the 1980s, stood with his M14 rifle. Another one had a uniform from the 1800s. One sword and an old navy coat, on his hat a little rope knot on top. I looked at the modern Marine seeing a small smile.
"It's not your time yet. Finish the fight you started. You'll be here when your time comes. Semper Fi Marine." He stated stepping back.
"Wait!" I yelled.
"Wait!" I grunted, my voice hoarse and dry.
I panted seeing a darkening sky and a stinging pain from my forehead. Something soft nestled me from the rocky ground. Coughing, I looked to see Agent Oliver sleeping against a rock wall. To my left was the wreckage of our DPV. The food and water was stripped from the frame, leaving only the fuel and guns. My hand touched my forehead. A bandaged covered the small wound just below my hairline. Limbs burned with aching and my stomach growling for food. I tried to get up. My arms failing to even support my weight. I felt someone drag me back. It was Agent Oliver.
"Get your hands off me." I growled eye an MRE pack.
"Stop, just...stop, please." Agent Oliver pleaded as I paused.
I looked back and shuffled my mangled body next to her. She was actually crying, the cold-hearted bitch working for men in suits, crying. My heart sank. Even though she was working for a faceless agency, I couldn't stand the sight of a girl crying. I sighed. Dirt fell on her auburn hair, her emerald eyes filled up with tears. She wiped her tears with a bloodied hand. My blood.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this." She whispered still sobbing.
"What was?" I asked grabbing an MRE package laying next to her.
"The woman you met in the elevator, the one who spoke French. She was the spy, the mole from MI6." She explained, sobbing even harder this time.
"She intercepted our COMs when we were in London..." I muttered ripping the bag open with my mouth.
"...damn!" I grunted pulling out a small package of powdered milk.
"What about the escape at the hotel?" I asked seeing Agent Oliver slowly wipe the offending tears from her reddened cheeks.
"She knows our frequency from the equipment you're using. Every word. Every transmission. Hannibal is listening to it all." Agent Oliver replied, my left hand completely limp.
"Ah..." I hissed trying to curl my fingers.
"Are you hurt?" Agent Oliver asked worriedly, sliding closer to my body.
"The spook is worried." I teased with a smile only to get a glare from her reddened eyes.
"Sorry, normal male reaction." I replied trying to lift my hand, the arm only lifting a centimeter from my hand.
She grabbed my hand. Her own felt soft, warm, secure. I haven't felt something like that in a long time. For too long my mother didn't even care about me. I went through school without any friends, without a love life, without any dreams. The Marines was a way out. A path of honor and redemption. Staff Sergeant Jake Mont, a Marine talking from a local recruiting office near my high school. I was convinced his 'see the world' speech, only to find out that there was much, much more. Agent Oliver wrapped a bandage around my arm to make an improvised splint. I curled my fingers around her hand. She paused and looked up at me. My heart quickened. The temperature felt like it was soaring in the night. She inched her head towards me. I did the same. I felt her forehead touch my skin, it was cool and silky. Our eyes met. Her lips parting from each other. I turned my head and inched forward.
"Reaper One, come in over." The radio crackled as I rebounded from the advance.
"I should...get the transmission." I replied feeling the heat surge into my face.
"I'll help you." Michelle suggested grabbing my left arm.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow." I said quickly as I was pulled up from the ground.
She helped me limp over to the flipped DPV, the anti-roll bars dented into the cockpit. My legs throbbed with pain as I was dragged towards the vehicle. The monitor was cracked but the guns were still intact. My rifle laid in a pile of dirt and sand just next to the vehicle. The M2 Browning dismantled from its mount, laying next to the cliff side. My left leg was completely numb and my right throbbing with pain. Michelle gently placed me next to the DPV and pulled out the radiophone. I had to catch my breath. The pain overrode everything I ever learned about pain control.
"Argh..." I groaned through gritting teeth.
"Is everything okay?" Michelle asked me, her hand resting on my head.
"I'm alright." I replied squeezing the phone.
"Reaper One-One, Reaper One-One, to all call signs over." I spoke into the radio, the dark quickly sweeping into the sky.
"Reaper One-One, all signs report over." I said one more time, the radio still silent.
The air started to drop in temperature. From fifty degrees Celsius down to five or four in a matter of minutes. With my eyes closed and my body leaning against the frame of the DPV, I could feel the metal slowly turning to a freezing cold touch. It almost felt hot to touch. Snot dribbled down from my nose and the white mist of hot air escaped from my mouth as I breathed. I was curled up like a car next to a fire. My body started to shake uncontrollably from the cold, shivering. Michelle was no where in sight. The dark night only allowed a meter or two of vision. I felt something on land on my shoulder. My hand instinctively went to the pistol holstered in my right thigh. Even that was too cold to touch. I looked back seeing Michelle. God damn it was cold. It only got worse. She sat down next to me and curled up in her thin combat long sleeved shirt. The sweat on my body started to harden and stick onto my skin. I remembered that I had a spare sleeping bag in the DPV just in case of an emergency. It was big enough for two if need be. I inched over to the back of the DPV. My body refusing to cooperate, my face now buried in the cold sand. Limbs and body aching from the cold and my injuries. Being trained in Arctic Warfare, I never imagined Iraq being a place to put my knowledge to work. My right hand reached out to a small green polyester. It was slick and cold. My two most hated feelings. My fingers wrapped around the buckles of the sleeping bag and squeezed them free. I quickly swatted the giant bag out and crawled over to Michelle, who was currently in a fetal position and trying to rubbing her arms for heat.
"T-take off your boots a-a-and get in the sleeping ba-ba-bag." I stuttered, shaking uncontrollably.
Michelle didn't even think twice. She kicked off her boots and jumped into the sleeping bag for two. I got up and slowly staggered to my rifle on the other side of the ravine. The CM901 was freezing cold in my hands. It felt like hot metal as I carried the weapon back and slid it into the sleeping bag. Michelle was still freezing but hell, better than sleeping in this temperature. I slipped inside the bag and placed the rifle next to me. The only thing separating Michelle and I was the heated air between us. I did what I was trained to do and edged closer to Michelle. She didn't complain as the both of us shared our body heat. My eyes met hers, her emerald orbs speaking without a single word being uttered. I could feel her breath blowing onto my face like a bucket of warm water. It felt...good. The only thing I could tell was that I had this strange attraction to her. Maybe it's from months of working with her or maybe even that she's different. There was just a gravitational pull radiating from her that I couldn't resist. My right arm had a mind of its own, it wrapped around her body and pulled her closer. She looked up before nuzzling her face into my neck. Her breath blanketed the skin and made small hairs stand up on my back. I placed my head on top of her hair, smelling the diluted vanilla mixed with the smell of dirt and sand. Sleep came fast from the exhausting day and the next thing I knew, I was whisked away into the void filled with bliss and contentment.
October 13th, 2014
One Hundred Miles from Iraq – Iran Border
Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion
0335 Hours
The sound of crackling plastic awakened me from my slumber. I didn't want to get up, it was so warm from where I laid. The crackling got even louder, getting on my nerves. My eyes cracked open just a sliver to see what was going on. Dark shadows moved from corner to corner, chewing on the unfinished contents of the MRE. I pulled the small hood covering the sleeping bag off and reached for my backpack. The Jackals competing over for the scraps of food growled so loudly, they didn't even notice me pull out a Night Vision Device and a rifle suppressor. I twisted the metal can over the threaded barrel of the rifle and pulled on the left eyed goggle. Slowly, I moved the rifle from under the sleeping bag and shouldered the weapon. My left hand burst into pain as I wrapped the injured fingers around the hand guard. Moonlight sprayed onto the ground in front of me and illuminated the savage animals. Their coat was black and brown with white canine teeth shining inside their mouths. One was ready to attack, its eyes glowing green as it reflected light in the eerie green of the goggle. Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale. Pause. Slowly walk the trigger back. Clack, psst. The bullet spat out from the barrel and punched right through the Jackal's head. Its body crumpling into the desert dirt with a puff of sand. The whole group looked over to me and started yelping, running away from the threat. Something ruffled next to me. This time it was a stray arm wrapping around my armored torso. There was a purr of content as legs wrapped around my waist. I was being pinned down. I turned around and saw Michelle's face buried in my neck. The cold morning locked me inside the sleeping bag. With a smile, I dragged the rifle and placed it inside the sleeping bag. Michelle shifted and looked up at me. Her eyes cracked just enough for her emerald orbs to see, heavy bags under her eyes. I looked down with a chuckle.
"Morning." I stated plainly and with a hoarse voice.
"What time is it?" She asked, mumbling from the early morning.
"0355." I replied digging inside my pack and producing two cans of SPAM.
"Wake me up in five minutes." Michelle mumbled and shrunk even further into the sleeping bag.
"Come on sleepy head, get up and eat some food. We have some hiking to do." I stated pulling up from the warm, comfortable and secure bed.
"Just in a couple of minutes." She whined as I sighed pulling out a butane burner and sat the two cans on the small plate.
"When you smell the meat your eyes will pop open." I said getting out of the bag and pulled out a tampon.
Most people will think I'm either crazy or insane at this point but no. When unrolled, the tampon made the greatest flint next to the actual rock itself. There was nothing but sand to burn. Salvaging equipment from the DPV, I pulled out my knife and jabbed it into the shock-absorber of the vehicle. I breathed into my hands to warm them up. The carbon fiber glove offer no protection to the cold. Red liquid splashed onto the unrolled, cotton like tampon. Grabbing a few rags and a spare BDU from my pack, I threw it around the tampon before pulling out a Zippo lighter. I lit the fire and took a step back. The tampon sparked with flames and quickly shrived into a clump of black ash. Red hydraulic fluid immediately lit on fire but slowly burned to a flame that reached at least ten centimeters. Holding my hands out to the fire, I could feel the warmth wash over me. I felt relieved and heard the sound of ruffling polyester. It was Michelle inching close to the fire. She curled up next to me and laid her head on my shoulder. Her hands carried my rifle. I laughed and pulled the rifle from her before grabbing the two cans of SPAM. She looked like the most adorable green caterpillar on the planet.
"Food?" I asked seeing the green bag nod.
I pulled open the tabs on the smoking hot cans and wrapped it around spare rags before giving it to Michelle. The green caterpillar grabbed the can and dug into it with excitement. I laughed at her hunger. I was like that once, after Arctic Warfare Training. No more hunger pangs. The heat from the SPAM radiated from the metal. Meat wafted into my nostrils with the scent of Tabasco sauce. In my hand was a plastic spoon and with every scoop, I savored the salted, spicy meat. It was the only thing left to eat next to the already eaten back-up MRE. Michelle and I slowly until the sun started to rise. Streaks of red spilled into the sky and the sun poked it's head over the horizon. Yellow slowly turned the sky blue. Both of us leaned against each other, waiting for the temperature to rise. Soon it was once again rising to forty degrees Celsius.
"Come on, let's get moving. We're miles away from that border." I stated getting up and feeling both of my legs throb.
"Now?" Michelle asked with a sleepy face.
"Let's go spook." I said pulling her out of the sleeping bag.
"I don't want to go yet!" Michelle whined smiling as I carried her bridal style to the DPV.
"Get your boots on and check your weapon." I yawned pulling the CM 901's sling over my head and grabbing a back pack.
"How long are we going to walk?" Michelle asked, pulling on her black combats.
"Don't know. No GPS, only a map and compass." I replied shrugging on the backpack and strapping on the L96A1 sniper rifle to it.
"I'm ready." I stated pulling up my shemagh, an afghan scarf, that I got out from the backpack.
"Alright, let's go." Michelle replied sheepishly as I pulled out 50-50 cord, the strongest kind of rope used by the military.
"Not this again." Michelle groaned as I threw the rope up and over the ravine.
"You ever go rock climbing?" I asked tying the cord around my waist and out the D-ring.
"No." Michelle replied worriedly.
"Well, there's a first time for everything." I said with a sly smile and gripped a protruding rock.
My arms burst into pain, my arms losing strength and my body falling back onto the floor. Michelle ran towards me. I told her to stay back. This was a fight within me. I tired and tried until I finally got half way into the climb. My whole body ached and was drenched in sweat. Pain coursed through me and slowly ate at my sanity. I pulled out a spike and slammed it into the stone. My right hand tied the cord around the spike and continued to climb upwards. It was a grueling thirty minutes before my hand finally reached horizontal ground. I pulled the one hundred twenty kilogram body full of weapons, ammunition and gear onto the safety of sand. Panting, I looked up at the blue sky with sweat dribbling down my face. Being a Marine was a painful road. At the end of the road, it was worth it. I got up after a few minutes of rest and looked down. Michelle was waiting for me to with a worried look on her face. I threw down the rope for her and grabbed onto the safety line. Michelle hooked up the rope to her D-ring and started to climb. Five minutes into the climb, she slipped. I gripped the rope with the gloves which started to slowly smoke from the heat and friction. My arms burned as she smacked into the side of the ravine just to grip the stone. Eventually, she reached the top. I pulled her up and saw her with nothing except for a light armor vest, an MP5 sub-machine gun and her sweat filled face. I gave her a smile and started to walk. She fell into line quickly. With a rifle slung in front of my vest, a map in my left and a compass in my right. The sun rose and fell with the day. Two days passed as we walked. My legs were sagging in to the sand. Dunes rose and fell without end with the mirages taunting us at every corner. I was tired. Keeping watch two days in a row was not exactly my game plan. I fell into the sand, exhausted and thirsty. Michelle crouched next to me and pulled my head up into her lap. I felt like she would be the last thing I saw in this forsaken land. Until the back-up radio unit that I had squawked to life.
"Hitman One to Reaper One-One, come in over." It crackled weakly with static.
"Get...the radio from my pack." I wheezed unable to keep my eyes open.
"Then?" Michelle asked quickly.
"Tell them, Reaper is at grid five zero three eight niner four four one six. Northeast by fifteen minutes..." I replied with a hoarse voice.
"Hitman One, this is Reaper One-One, we are at grid five zero three eight niner..." Her voice faded off, the exhaustion taking over me and the hot wind of the desert howling at me. I felt like I was not long for this world.
My mind blacked out. It felt like I was asleep forever. Time was non-existent, no one but me. Rest felt like it lasted forever. Until I was awaken by the jolting of the vehicle I was sitting in. I realized someone was holding me. Michelle kept me inside the DPV Jorge was driving. My leery eyed self opened my eyes and saw a large dune. Bal was nowhere to be seen. Elf was manning the gun.
"What happened?" I grumbled, scratching my eye.
"You blacked out, we're enroute on new intel from command. Hannibal's been found at a nearby bunker filled with postwar VX Agents and here's the catch. Command thinks they have the Novichok Agent." Jorge quickly brought me up to speed, trying to keep the DPV from flipping over at eighty miles an hour.
"Novichok?" I asked pulling out the sniper rifle bag and shifted in my seat to make room for Michelle.
"Chemical agent invented by the Russians in the '80s and '90s. It was designed to be undetectable, penetrate NATO chemical protection and be safer to handle. It's a binary agent. You mix two powders and then turn it into gas and voila, deadliest nerve agent in the world." Jorge stated shifting gears as we approached the staging area.
"Fuck, that's a recipe for disaster." I whispered unzipping the bag.
"Where's Bal?" I said pulling out the British sniper rifle.
"Enroute to the overwatch. We're on assault while you, Oliver and Bal cover our backs." Elf explained racking the M2 Browning's bolt, a hot round landing in my vest.
"What the fuck Elf?" I yelled reaching into my vest and pulling out a giant palm sized round.
"Sorry boss, I keep forgetting that you're not there." Elf said with a smile, Michelle letting a small giggle escape from her mouth.
"What are you laughing at?" I asked as she shook her head.
"How long have I been asleep?" I grumbled shaking my head and looking at the GPS, we were five miles out.
"Twenty five minutes, about twenty five minutes!" Jorge yelled in reply.
"Twenty five minutes...I've been asleep for twenty five minutes – eating a vanilla milkshake." I sighed seeing the top of a small crest with a lone soldier standing a top it against the blue sky.
"No you're not." Michelle stated sitting on my right thigh.
"I'm quoting someone from Generation Kill." I groaned, the vehicle coming to a stop.
"Hey Sergeant, how you doing?" Bal asked with a bandaged arm and the other holding the M24EP.
"Just fine without you, you Croatian bastard." I grunted and got out of the vehicle.
"Assault begins in one hour. Get the hide set up and ready to cover the assault force. Good luck, boss." Jorge stated with a smile revving the engine and driving away.
"The two of you, help me dig." I ordered pulling out a shovel.
The hide, a five feet by twelve feet hole that was at least two feet deep with a drain hole for run-off water and grenades. Elements of the hide consists of loopholes for the snipers to shoot out off, elbow rest, front and rear appearance emulating the ground, and an entrance for the snipers to go in and out of. All these things were absorbed in Scout Sniper school within two and four weeks of training. The rest was identifying targets, becoming an artist and learning how to shoot one shot for each enemy. Thirty minutes and we were done with a crew of three. It was invisible. Built on the crest of a dune, the top was sandwiched between sand and wood. Everything was built into the standards of the sniper and the burlap netting concealed the dark insides. Inside, I nodded at the hide and pulled out the British sniper rifle. I sat the L96 on the jutting elbow rest, just enough space for the barrel to meet the end of the burlap and the loophole. Bal set his modernized M24EP and spotting scope next to mine, only to be separated by a wall of sandbags. We started the next step: drawing the range card. Quick art skills go a long way. A small rock at eleven o'clock, five hundred meters and a dead tree at one o'clock, one thousand meters meant everything to a sniper. The assault begins in five minutes. Pulling off the armored vest and the BDU, all I had was my weathered skin and my trousers. Michelle sat behind us, I could feel her stares gazing up and down my body.
"Overwatch, Hitman beginning assault. Take out the guards for us will you?" Rocky asked on the radio as I nodded.
"Copy that Hitman, we'll send it to them." I replied, pulling back the bolt on the L96A1.
"Are you sure you can fire out to eight hundred meters?" Bal asked with a sly smile.
"Who are we, Army snipers?" I stated with a chuckle from both of us.
"Alright give me the dope." I ordered looking into the sniper rifle's scope.
"Wind five knots, full value rolling from East to West. Eight hundred and fifty meters with an elevation dip of twenty meters." Bal ordered in a monotone voice, the Zen in his voice.
The target was a bunker in the middle of the desert. No roads let to it and no one would know it existed. After the Iran-Iraq war, the bunker was built by loyalist forces to test new weapons and garrison troops. It could house over two thousand men and was a giant relic of the Cold War. The bunker was no more than a door in the middle of sand with two hidden pillboxes blocking the road into the bunker. They only had enough money to build two pillboxes fortunately. In each one was full of four personal guardsmen. They had good equipment and was armed to the teeth. These Russians were too probably recruited from the Spetsnaz. The new RPG-32 they carried was powerful enough to penetrate current tank armor, let alone any up-armored Humvee or DPV. My hands turned the knobs on the scope to account for wind speed, elevation and parallax. I saw my target up close. He had a giant cigar in one hand, sharing the cancer stick around with his friends. He was bald and carried the old and tested AK-47. Wearing tan body armor and a t-shirt, he was ready for the desert. The scope was calibrated down to the last click on the knob. I looked out to see Bal nodding to me. We were in business. I pulled out a heavy magazine box, the bullet was size of my entire hand. It was heavy, it was powerful and hell it was accurate. The .338 Lapua Magnum recorded the longest confirmed rifle kill in combat at 2,475 meters. I slapped the magazine into the rifle and pushed the bolt forward. A glint of brass shined from the chamber before disappearing into the barrel. The final step. I pushed the safety forward and made sure the firing pin, which jutted out from the back of the bolt, was primed.
"Overwatch, Assault force, we are ETA thirty mikes! I need those pillboxes taken out now!" The radio crackled with the roaring of the engines.
"Ready." Bal stated with confidence as Michelle walked over to the both of us.
"Stand by, stand by, stand by." I breathed, feeling my finger depress the trigger smoothly.
"Send it." I ordered pausing in mid-exhale and finished the pull.
The rifle recoiled into my shoulder as the round left the barrel with a crack. I kept my eye on the scope for a few seconds longer to see white vapor from the bullet trail hit the target. A red spray exploded from his body and he crippled into the ground. My right hand instinctively pulled back the bolt and slammed it forward to load a new one.
"Ready." Bal reported, already sighting his new target.
"Send it." I ordered again, squeezing the trigger.
Bang. The bullet exploded out of the barrel. His friend next to me was still in shock, the blood of his friend splattered all over her face and body. The cigar was extinguished from the red liquid. He crumbled into the wall as the bullet cut right though his chest. Now the guns were out and firing into our general area. Bullet whizzed by our heads, the firing procedure was thrown out the window. Survival was key. My hands worked as fast as it could. The last man being killed by a bullet to the face. I shifted focus. Bal was on the last Russian and he was damn lucky. I heard a grunt and then a scream. My head turned to Bal who was on the ground and in pain. The bullet from a stray round slugged him right in the gut, it penetrated the sand bag and found a way into this body. I took up the slack and fired the last round as Michelle tended to the down soldier. With the last round expended to the magazine, I pulled back the bolt seeing the barrel of the rifle smoking hot. I rushed to Bal and knelt down to help the Marine.
"Fucking Russian!" Bal grunted through his teeth.
"Wow." Michelle breathed ripping the uniform from his wound.
"How bad is it?" Bal asked about to look down, my hand holding his head firm to the ground.
"It's fine." I replied lying to him and seeing a fist sized wound near his abdomen.
"I don't feel fucking fine!" Bal screamed as blood pooled out into the sand and quickly drying from the heat.
"Blowout kit!" I yelled, seeing Michelle unstrap the medic bag around his thigh.
"Fuck!" Bal screamed again to drown out the pain.
Michelle pulled out a short syringe and stabbed it into Bal's thigh. His groans quickly became hums of pain. She then pulled out a giant gauze pad. Dousing the wound with quick-clot, Bal hissed in pain. Spittle from his mouth spilled into his neck. Michelle's hand came down on his wound. Bal let out a blood curling scream. I held down his wound as she wrote a G on Bal's head to designate him with a gauze bandage on his abdomen. Gun fire was heard from the front of the hide. I got up and saw the four Humvees and DPV driving into the bunker, firing into the pillboxes as they went. The vehicles stopped and dismounted. The small group of Marines walked first into the bunker. Michelle and I carried Bal outside to the dunes. I grabbed a red smoke grenade and placed it on the ground. Pulling the pin, faint red smoke started to ignite from the top and bottom of the grenade.
"Command, Reaper One, we have one wounded at grid five zero three eight niner four nine, fifty minutes east. Require blood packs on arrival over." I spoke into the radio with my CM 901 still slung around my neck.
"Roger that Reaper, CASEVAC on the way, five minutes out from Camp Colt, command out." The radio replied as I nodded.
"He's going to be okay right?" I asked seeing Michelle nod.
"Come on Bal, stay awake." I ordered tapping his face.
"I feel high as fuck boss." Bal replied with a carefree smile.
"I'm sure you are." I smiled seeing a Marine walking out with something in his hands and giving it to Jorge.
"Hey Sergeant, you have to see this." Jorge radioed as I gave Bal one more pat on the chest and walked into the hide.
"What's up?" I asked pulling on the vest and strapped on a combat helmet.
"Some maps marking out Paris, New York, Moscow, Japan, Beijing and the major cities." Jorge replied, another blazing hot gust of air wafting our way.
"What's different?" I asked sliding down the sand dune concealing the hide.
"Names of everyone hitting each city." Jorge stated, that was big news.
"Our friend Hannibal's hitting NAS Nor - " Jorge started as a giant bang interrupted his sentence.
"Hitman One Actual, all callsigns, what the fuck is going on?" Rocky yelled into radio.
"Sir something..." The Marine stopped and started to cough.
"Ahh!" He let out a cry of pain that echoed through the desert.
Green gas started to smoke out from the bunker. I stopped still a couple hundred meters away from the bunker. Jorge and the rest of the Marines ran back from the small jut in the ground. More screams of pain joined the single voice building up like an eerie chorus to a song of death. It was something you remember, it was something you couldn't get out of your mind. The screams were interrupted by the sound of buzzing. CASEVAC was here and the UH-60 Blackhawk landed where Michelle and Bal were. I started to climb back up the sand dunes. The sand digging into my nails and the vest. The screams started to subside as the men loaded up Bal into the chopper. I looked at Michelle, her face was masking her sadness. The green gas probably killed the Marines by now. HAZMAT was called in but they also died. The nerve agent was able to penetrate the suits they were in, two hours passed and the gas was almost gone. At least one hundred men was now on scene. The bunker was a goldmine, both for the gas and the intelligence. Michelle and I sat on the sand dune watching the sun set. My sniper was laying in my lap, with its innards laid on the plastic sheet next to me. A small rag soaked with gun cleaning solvents went through the barrel as I watched the men at work.
"You ever think about dying for your country?" Michelle asked as I looked at her.
"I have and I will." I grunted twisting the barrel into the chassis of the rifle.
"Why?" She poked further into a wound that was closed a long time ago.
"Because the Marines is the only family I have." I sighed picking up the matte black bolt.
"When I was young, I lost my father. He was a veteran Marine just like I am now. Five years in Desert Storm and five years in Afghanistan. He died of an IED." I recalled wiping the bolt until it was sparkling clean.
"My mom remarried some middle class guy. He was strict and stern, he was a traditionalist. Beatings were plentiful. He brought a daughter and a brother. Both were viewed as better than me." I said with a small chuckle.
"Look where they are now, one's a secretary to some failing company and another's in jail for drugs." I stated with a small smile.
"Is that where the scars on your back are from?" She asked as I nodded.
"My stepfather use to beat me for coming home late. I was studying to be a business man just like him. Trying to study or not, he beat me either way. It was like I was a vent for his misfortune. I eventually found my dad's dog tags though. It drove me to find the fatherhood figure in my life. Staff Sergeant Jake Mont. Sergeant Mont fought with dad in Desert Storm, he's still morning his death but he was happy to see me. I lied about my age and joined the Marines when I was sixteen. Mom stopped caring after me and went to her two stepchildren instead. Doesn't matter, I got on myself just fine." I explained replacing the bolt into the rifle and snapping the two ends close.
"I'm glad I met you at least." Michelle whispered looking at the sun, the sweat dribbling down her face.
"Why is that?" I asked with a quirked curiosity and eyebrow.
"I was born into a rich family, I never thought I'd be doing something like this. My father prepared me for the business world not...this." She mentioned the desert stretched in front of us.
"Yeah, it's different from a comfy chair and an oak table." I said with a small chuckle.
"I mean I have everything done for me and when I met you and you're determination, it seemed to dwarf mine. You've been fighting all your life, I've been fighting just through college to get a good job as a CEO." She replied with what I felt was humility, it sparked a small fire of attraction inside me.
"When you get to be as old as me...well you are as old as me. When you get to experience the world like I do, you'll understand why you are better off ignorant." I stated seeing the bodies of mangled, decaying and molten skin being carried off.
"Just like that." I said, Michelle looked up as I covered her eyes.
"Don't look." I said with worry that the sight won't ever be erased from her memory.
"I'm not a child Josh." She snapped pulling my hand from her eyes.
"You cannot unsee what you already saw." I stated picking up the sniper rifle.
"Staff Sergeant Flint!" Someone yelled from below, it was my boss Colonel Neil Jordan.
"Yes Colonel!" I bellowed carrying the rifle in my hands.
"Get your ass down here!" He screamed as I slid down the dune.
He was six feet tall, built like a football player with graying hair and sharp blue eyes. Colonel Jordan's eyes were full of fire and his upper lip curling in a snarl. A scar ran down his right brow all the way down to his neck, he was a living example of the Marines.
"Yes sir." I snapped a salute and stood at attention.
"Tell me what the fuck happened Sergeant. How did six men from Recon and three men from the HAZMAT team died. Tell me how Corporal Baljoge got wounded from a bullet in the gut. What in the fucking world went wrong Sergeant?" Colonel Jordan screamed in my face, a knot being tied in my stomach.
"Sir, the men went into the bunker without any intel except that Hannibal was there. The Novichok agent -" I started with Colonel Jordan finishing off my sentence for me with Jorge and Elf standing behind him.
"The Novichok Agent? Do you hear what you are saying? That nerve agent was disposed when the United States found out in the early 2000s. There is no Russian nerve agent out there that can kill a fully protected HAZMAT team and there is no way that this 'Hannibal' is planning an attack on the United States. We have every Air National Guard, Alphabet Agency on these defectors and they have turned up nothing." The Colonel spat out each word as the three of us took every one of it.
"But sir -" Jorge started.
"Shut up, squid. All of you are being reassigned to helping a United States Marine force in Paris search for this 'Solomon's' nuclear bomb. I'm reassigning fire team Bravo to this mission, I've had enough of this bullshit...even with Sergeant Blackburn's Recon team. Dismissed." The Colonel went so far to use 'squid' a term for navy men in an insult.
"Fuck that was harsh." Elf commented walking over to me.
"What are we going to do now Staff?" Jorge asked as I shrugged.
"Do the best that we can do. We don't get to choose where to go." I replied with a sigh.
"Get your gear, it's time to move out." I mumbled with Jorge ruffling my crew cut hair.
"Cheer up kid, command isn't an easy job. You're doing great as far as I can tell." The older Navy Seal praised as I gave him a small smile.
"Thanks." I muttered.
"Alright let's go eat some snail." I stated, running up the dune with Michelle behind me.
"Hoorah!" The men yelled running back to their vehicle.
"Are you okay after all that?" Michelle whispered as I nodded.
"It's a mistake I have to learn." I replied grabbing the CM 901 and Bal's M24EP.
"See this is why I'm so interested in you Sergeant Flint. After all you've gone through you're still loving the Marines." Michelle said with a smile.
"Oh no, I'm loving every second of it." I stated with an even bigger one.